Hunger pangs
by Lock Lokidottir
Summary: With the amazing and beautiful Trufflehead! : Promps 'hug' and 'second nature'. Every one has something to fear, something that is a constant worry in the back of their minds-Sherlock and John's fears make up their characters. It's just a good thing that they're two halves of a whole; where would the be without each other?


Everyone has something to fear.

Everyone has nightmares.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are no different.

You, dear reader, may be afraid of many things; spiders, the dark, beetles and bugs and creepy crawlies are a few examples.

Nothing has surprised John Watson more that Sherlock Holmes. His fears are not an exception.

The first time John realised, he almost laughed at the sheer stupidity of it.

'Sherlock,' said John patiently, proffering him the steaming spoonful of tomato soup. 'You have to eat. You haven't eaten in days now- you'll collapse if you're not careful!'

'Why?' Answered Sherlock back absentmindedly. John mentally sighed in frustration; Sherlock Holmes was the worlds biggest child protégé- or, rather, one with a pretty serious glandular problem. Getting him to eat… was, well, very much impossible. When he was on the case (which gave John a mental picture of a bloodhound who had caught the scent of a rabbit in a distant and grassy field) he would ignore a naked John with a raging hard with stiletto heels (should it ever call for it), much less a spoonful of 'dull' tomato soup. John placed the spoon back into the hot bowl, defeated.

Both men sat in silence for a moment, before something interrupted it rudely. Something very hard to ignore.

It was Sherlock stomach, which rumbled rather loudly, like a clap of thunder in a nearby weather storm.

Sherlock carried on, oblivious- John's head, however, snapped up.

'Sherlock? What was that?'

Sherlock frowned, his eyes still on the files which decorated the coffee table. 'What soun-?'

Another rumble. This time it was louder, deeper, much like a lion trapped in a cage.

It was John's second nature to care. And hearing Sherlock's stomach groan like that was enough for Doctor Watson; he suddenly stood up, chin out defiantly, and glared down at his lover.

'Get up.'

An imperative. Uh-oh. This was military John-'Kick-ass'-Watson, not the Watson the blogger, lover of tea and jam and toast. Oh no, this was tough as a nut, I've-killed-people-you-fool Watson. Sherlock had better watch out, and not try his boyfriends patience. Just go along with it is the best advice, unless you want to end up as washed up mangle in the Thames days later.

So what did Sherlock do?

He didn't listen.

John Watson strode across the room, as calm as you please of the surface, but inside he was bubbling and boiling away. Why couldn't Sherlock listen, just this _once?_

Sherlock looked up at John, his grey eyes piercing and observing. 'John, wha-?'

John roughly gripped Sherlock's upper arm, with enough force to be gentle as not to leave bruises, but hard enough so that Sherlock didn't object.

Hauling him up with surprising strength, John trip-dragged Sherlock to the bathroom. About halfway there, Sherlock thought it would be a good idea to try and _lay _on the floor; however, this little obstacle didn't put John Watson off. He wondered what an earth they both must have looked like as he hooked his arms around Sherlock's waist and continued to drag him.

As Sherlock held onto the bathroom door frame, shrieking off his head like he was being murdered, John had a rest.

'John, let go of me! Let go, damn you! I'm on a _case! _I'm busy- if this next target gets killed, it's all your fault-' John stopped his rest and promply _lifted _the child off of the floor. This cut off his train of thought as well as speech.

Sherlock realised as John dragged the bathroom scale out with his foot.

'John, don't!'

John didn't listen to Sherlock, just as the latter hadn't. In a flash, the taller man was stood in nothing but his underwear. Sherlock didn't know how he did it so fast, and as he tried to dart away John caught him round the middle.

John held his lover down on the scale, as the little red arrow twirled around and around the dial. Due to Sherlock's struggling, John had to give his arms quite a few warning squeezes before he settled down.

The dial soon came to a stop, and John wasn't furious, or angry; he was simply disappointed.

The inner doctor, his caring second nature, screamed at him. This man was so skeletal already, and rather than _gaining _weight, he had been doing exactly the opposite. How underweight the man in front of him was evident in his features.

'Sherlock.'

'John, I'm sorry-'

John held up his hand. 'You said you wouldn't do this anymore, Sherlock. You _promised _me when we became more than friends you would gain weight and not starve yourself, for me.'

Sherlock looked wild, panicked. One of his biggest fears is losing John Watson_, _because it would be like you or I losing half of ourselves; we would, quite simply, die. If John ever left, it would be safe to say Sherlock would not object to the latter offer.

'John-'

'No, Sherlock!' John snapped, losing his composure quickly. 'You promised!' John suddenly calmed down. 'Why do you do it, Sherlock? Why do you starve yourself? Do you like the attention? Do you like me worrying about you?'

The words stung like acid from the tongue of the Doctor. Sherlock visibly flinched. He felt his face turn red and he self consciously hid his stomach and the shadow of his ribs. 'Because I fear getting fat.'

John couldn't believe his ears. But seeing the head turned down in shame, the shadow of the mans ribs and his concave stomach, something in John changed.

A few minutes later, the calm man spoke. 'I'll make you a promise, Sherlock.'

Sherlock looked up in surprise. 'Me, a promise? Why?'

John shrugged. 'It's a promise. I promise you, word of a soldier, that if you dare starve yourself again, I will too.'

Sherlock looked aghast. _'What?'_

'You heard me. If you go hungry, I go hungry. If you eat, I eat. You _will _gain weight Sherlock, even if I have to damage myself in order to do it.'

The words suddenly hit Sherlock. He was still stood on the scale. He bit his lip, and swallowed his fears.

'I promise, John; for real this time. I love you; I don't want you to starve because of me. I couldn't live with myself.'

Sherlock suddenly hugged John, wrapping his stick-thin arms around the blogger. John hesitated, before carefully hugging back in a way that made Sherlock think that his lover was almost _scared _of breaking him.

At the comment, John looked up, hopeful. 'Really?'

'Really. I'm sorry, John.'

John simply snuggled closer into Sherlock's chest; it made the latters heart flutter and feel warm. He blessed the doctor silently; where would he be without his caring nature? He wondered what type of person he would be without him, however he didn't like it. The genius instead went back to making soothing sweeps down the doctors back that made him shiver slightly.

Sherlock's world seemed a little bit brighter. No more hunger pangs, no more pain of his stomach eating out the non-existent fat any longer. With John, this whole thing was infinitely easier.


End file.
